


Blood and Ashes

by Domina



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (kinda), Andrastianism, Angry old Rivaini ladies, Another reason why Solas might fail in the end, Antiva, Antiva City, Antivan Crows, Content tags will be added alongside chapters, Dairsmuid, F/F, Filling in the blanks about Rivain since Bioware has given us so little, Gen, KHALEEEEESIIIIIIIII, Post-Trespasser, Rivain, Speculation, The Chantry, The Chantry's royal screwup, The Circle, Trespasser - Freeform, a challenge to Andraste, and dragons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5217098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domina/pseuds/Domina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She awoke covered in the remains of her friends and advisors, of her hopes and her dreams. The smell of burnt things - wood, skin, books - flooded her nose. Her body ached beyond measure; she could barely open her swollen eyes to look up at the rose-tinged sky. Soot-covered stones peaked in her peripheral vision. When the Templars finally came for them, it seemed that they had destroyed every centimeter of the Dairsmuid Circle. Except her.</p><p><i>Rise from your ashes and walk,</i> the Hand of the Maker had said. <i>Rise from your ashes, and tell the people of what you saw. </i></p><p>And so the Phoenix did.</p><p>May the Maker bless her ashen wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_A letter in careful, flawless script, hastily stamped by the seal of Grand Cleric Marceline of Val Royeaux._

Third of Bloomingtide, 9:45 Dragon

Your Perfection,

It is my hope that this letter finds you well. I write to you in regards to news coming out of Rivain. During my visit with Grand Clerics Bianca and Ursa, I caught wind of rumours about a woman cultivating a following in opposition to the wisdom of Our Lady. It would appear that during the years that we were dealing with the Breach, our resources were too limited to have caught this any sooner.

No one knows the woman’s name; her followers call her “the Phoenix,” as she claims to have survived the Annulment at Dairsmuid. According to the rumours, this woman was caught amid the flames and fell unconscious. While she slept, a mysterious figure called “The Hand of the Maker” spoke to her, and asked her to wake. She awoke naked and covered in ashes. After surveying the Circle ruins, she walked all the way to Seere to report what she had seen. It has not yet been confirmed if she is an apostate. But she has allegedly performed “miracles,” and that is cause for investigation enough.

I sent someone to Llomerryn to investigate and - Your Perfection, she has incredible influence. Only  _one_ person attempted to rob Brother Arin, and she was promptly chastised by passers-by in the street! “Shame upon you!” They cried. When the little thief tried to run away, an old seer came rushing out of her shop to beat her with a broom. When she was done, the seer embraced the girl - who apologized to Brother Arin, still sobbing - and sent her on her way with a banana. A  _banana_ , Your Perfection! You know Llomerryn’s reputation - should you walk its streets now, I dare say you would not quite recognize it. And this is all because they’ve taken up following this Phoenix.

There’s a popular song about this woman, although it is sung in the old Rivaini tongue. A lot of the songs about her are in that language, actually; Maker knows that they’ve been exceedingly difficult to write down. We were able to translate this one roughly, and it begins as such:

_Andraste would set the people ablaze_

_But the Maker’s found in the embers_

And this is normally followed by music. If there’s more than one musician present, the instrumental section can go on for minutes at a time, until a singer leaps forward and says:

_The smoke rose over us, heavy_

_From the fires at Dairsmuid;_

_It is upon us to show gratitude_

_So long as we carry breath._

_Oh Messenger, Oh Twice-Burned Emissary!_

_Your soot-covered footsteps show the Ashen Path_

_To the Maker’s love, to the Oneness_

_To our hearths we welcome you for it._

It is usually sung at night around fires or in the home. Brother Arin says that it is not unlike the sacred hymns of the Chanters, although it reaches these people in ways that the Chant of Light has not. 

Although it is not my calling to advise you, Your Perfection, I beg you to begin a more formal investigation of this Phoenix woman. Not a day passes by in which her influence in Rivain fails to grow. I do not think that we should trust the Qunari to perceive her as a threat and stamp her out; five years have passed since the Annulment of Dairsmuid, and she has been known for at least half that. Should her followers gain footholds outside of that country, there’s a real chance that Maker-fearing Andrastians will be led astray.

I await your guidance from Antiva City.

Humbly Yours,

Marceline


	2. Chapter 2

It always began with just one.

Just one Templar, sniffing around the Circle grounds like a wolf for prey. First they'd request to see the First Enchanter. While they waited, they would stand there and watch how the mages interacted with each other, or talk to the "Templars" that were members of the Order in name only. Sometimes they'd try to interrogate the full-fledged mages or sit in on a class unannounced, much to the displeasure of the instructors. Then First Enchanter Rivella would swoop in, guide them on a controlled route through the Circle for a few hours, have them share a meal with carefully-picked Senior Enchanters, and send them on their way. Perhaps Ayda should have known that when it was Lord Seeker Lucius that came skulking into the Circle's main hall one autumn afternoon, it would not be an ordinary visit.

She was walking out of her Advanced Casting course with the others when a topaz-skinned young woman came hurrying towards her, hazel eyes widened. She nearly knocked over another mage in her haste. She raised her hand in apology to him as she made her way to Ayda, cheeks flushed.

"What has you caught in a whirlwind, Niav?" Ayda asked finally.

"Templars!" Niav answered, catching her breath. "Well, one Templar. But I _told_ you they would come soon enough."

"But why? We're just now hearing about the uprisings in other Circles. We don't even have _real_ Templars to fight against!"

"My God, keep your voice down! _They_ don't know that," Niav chided her. "They want to make sure that we'll keep nice and compliant." The cuffs in her dark-red locs clicked as she tossed her hair back. "They think that we're robes over here, too."

"Is it true that they don't allow mages to visit their families in other Circles?" Ayda asked, scanning the crowd. She'd heard a number of rumors about the other Circles, although not always confirmed. One of them was that mages were torn away from their families. It was also said that the abuse of mages was common, especially in Ferelden. And there was one rumor - which turned out to be true - that the treatment of mages was so poor in other parts of the world, that a mage made a Marcher Chantry explode. No wonder First Enchanter Rivalla held back few secrets about how their Circle was run: it was easier if everyone maintained the facade, so that the Templars wouldn't force them into a  _real_ Circle. Or worse.

Niav looked furtively over her shoulder before nodding. " _Sa'am_ , Ayda, it's true. As soon as you begin to show any sort of magical ability,  _wham_! The Templars come for you and throw you into prison. They insist on calling it a 'Circle.' A 'Cage,' more like."

As the hallway began to empty out, Ayda spotted someone with very light skin, a mottled shade of pink amid a sea of brown faces.

"A pale man?"

"That's the one," Niav whispered. "The Seeker." 

Ayda looked again past her shoulder. The heavy armor and Templar's robes were unmistakable, for sure. As did the way he attempted to discreetly wipe the sweat from his sunburnt brow. The silver hair pulled from his face seemed to create constant tension with his receding hairline. And -  _there it is,_  she thought - she recognized that telltale Templar scowl. She wondered if they only recruited the ones with faces like crumpled parchment, too dour to ever unfold.

"Looks like a normal Templar to me." Minor cosmetic differences aside, they were all the same - from the way that they changed the air around them, down to the way that they looked at her with narrowed eyes and curled lips. They almost always kept one hand on their sword hilt as they walked through Circle halls, as if an abomination was hiding in the floor cracks or in an apprentice's satchel. "The Templars are here for the protection of mages," they always said. But their demeanor suggested danger, not safety.

And, if this man truly was a Seeker, death. 

Niav shifted uncomfortably as she shook her head. "This one's older and a lot scarier than most. He's definitely a Seeker. You know that they don't send  _those_  out unless-"

"Shush!" Ayda hissed. But it was too late. They'd caught the Seeker's attention, and he was coming their way.

"Don't you dare," she warned Niav through her teeth. "don't you dare get nervous."

"I'm not daft," Niav replied through barely-moving lips. "They smell fear like dogs."

Ayda could see her straightening up in her peripheral vision. However often the Templars checked out their Circle, they had learned quickly to never show any sign of distress. Fear meant guilt to them; of what, Ayda was never sure. The mages who were "apprehended" never came back to say.

The older Templar - Seeker - approached them. Ayda could see why Niave was apprehensive. Up close he was intimidatingly tall, and he had a certain swagger to him that made others give him a wide berth as they passed.  The sallow skin beneath his eyes would imply that he was haunted, if not for the piercing, light blue irises that seemed to bore icy little holes into her.  _This man has killed people like us_   _before_ , Ayda thought.  _  
_

But she couldn't let herself be afraid.

The Seeker came within half an arm's length from the pair. Quickly he swept his eyes across their exposed, unscarred arms before he addressed them.

" _Masa' yarnoin_ ," he said in harsh Rivaini. Words that should have flowed like water fell like stones when he spoke.

" _Good afternoon_ ," Ayda replied in kind. She would use Trade Tongue; he did not deserve to converse in Rivaini, not with her. The Seeker regarded her curiously, wheels turning behind his eyes.

"We welcome you to our Circle," Niav said quickly, fanning the amiability in her voice. "May we help you with anything?"

"Perhaps you can...what is your name?" he asked, turning to her.

"Niav Carthay, of Clan Seadha." Much to Ayda's relief, her voice sounded smooth and calm. 

"Very good," the man said, inclining his head. He frowned slightly once he turned to her. "And you. What is your name?"

"Ayda." She ignored the foot pressing warningly against her toe. His brow crinkled further, and she was sure that was a hand caressing his sword hilt.

"Ayda," the Seeker said flatly. "You were born with a surname, were you not?"

"I was."

"Then you will introduce yourself properly to me, girl."

"I am Ayda Fadi, of Clan Luain." She replied, tilting her chin slightly. Ayda knew better - had been raised better - but kept allowing defiance to seep through. The Seeker looked at her appraisingly for a moment, and thinned his lips.

"You may be able to help me, Ayda Fadi, of Clan Luain." In his mouth her name sounded sour, foul. "I await a meeting with your First Enchanter, but perhaps you can answer a few questions for me."

"I am glad to help, Lord Seeker." She did her best to tamp down the contempt; she was growing increasingly certain that he'd killed mages like her for less. "What do you wish to know?"

"When was your Harrowing, Ayda Fadi?"

She could practically feel the goosebumps raising across her arms. "First of Wintermarch, 9:35 Dragon. My twentieth birthday, Lord Seeker," Ayda said, smoothing out each syllable to make them true. She fought the urge to step back as he edged closer, eyes narrowed. 

"I suppose every mage remembers their Harrowing exactly, even as the years pass," he responded. "Tell me, what manner of demon did you fight?"

"Pride, Lord Seeker." That one came easy. He hadn't introduced himself; clearly, the man expected everyone to know who _he_ was. Like flies to a corpse, she was certain that pride demons would flock to him if Templars could be possessed.

"A pride demon." He smiled, but the warmth never once reached his eyes. Calloused fingers tapped a curling lip. "One of the most difficult demons an apprentice can face during their Harrowing. Perhaps you can tell me just how you-"

"Lord Seeker Lucius." A crystal-clear voice sliced through their tension. "I did not anticipate your wandering beyond the reception hall!" 

First Enchanter Rivalla suddenly swept into view, cobalt robes swishing as she walked over. Tightly-coiled black hair tumbled triumphantly out from beneath the golden scarf wrapped and draped around her head and shoulders. Ayda loved that however old she was - no one could really tell, as her deep umber skin lacked any significant wrinkles - there was more power in her steps than any Templar could ever muster. 

"Rivalla," he replied, not taking his eyes off Ayda. She watched the man cringe when the First Enchanter lightly touched his shoulder in greeting. "It was inevitable, once I noticed that you have the most... _interesting_  charges in your Circle."

"Indeed. We inspire our mages to reach the maximum height of their potential, with equally interesting results," she said, smiling harder. "In fact, there is a lecture taking place presently that I'd love to show you." 

Lord Seeker Lucius hardly bothered to contain his annoyance as he turned to First Enchanter Rivalla. "Very well. We shall see if they meet the current standards." He turned his icy gaze back upon Ayda once more, sending a chill up her spine.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ayda Fadi of Clan Luain. Until we meet again."

"Farewell." She waited until they were well out of sight before sighing loudly. Niav let out a long breath next to her and fussed with her robes.

"By the Void," she exhaled. "You play with fire, Ayda. Please don't _ever_ do that again."

Ayda grimaced as she stared at the Seeker's back. "I couldn't help it. Something about him made me want to fight. He's definitely killed mages for minor infractions. Someone who abuses his power at every opportunity."

Niav stepped firmly in front of her, soft fingers interlocking with hers. "All the more reason for you to be careful with Templars like him," she said softly. "I could not bear to lose you."

A small smile broke through her frown. Niav would quell a storm with her touch, if only she could reach the clouds. Her hands were always warm, safe; when Ayda was in her arms, they felt like home. 

Ayda sighed as her heartbeat slowed. "Nor I you. I promise not to cause so much trouble in the future," she promised. "What do you think it could be?" 

"I'm not sure. But the way that he asked about your alleged Harrowing...I didn't like it."

"You think he knows? That we don't force our people through that barbaric ritual?"

"Yes." Niav began to chew her lip. "Why else would he be here, and asking questions like that? He  _had_ to have found out from someone. Maybe one of the Clerics? Our Templars wouldn't dream of betraying us."

A fist of worry clenched in Ayda's gut. "I'm sure that  _Bheyida_ Rivella will tell us what he says once he leaves. She always does." She took a step towards the exit. "I'm going to go home. Still want to meet in the library to study later?"

"Yes. I should be out of dinner with my gran by nightfall." Niav leaned in, lips brushing against her cheek. "Stay out of trouble, please," she murmured. "The last thing I need is you getting hauled off by a Templar because you pissed him off."

Not satisfied, Ayda twisted her head so that her mouth touched Niav's, rejoicing in its softness. She could feel Niav's small gasp as her mouth parted. Ayda loved that she always tasted like cinnamon, and fell deeper into their kiss. She could feel her beloved tangle her fingers into her short, curly hair; they tightened as Ayda slipped her hands around her slender waist, pulling her closer. If there was anyone else remaining in the area, she no longer cared. Couldn't care, as Niav carefully slipped her tongue past her lips.

But it was Niav broke the kiss first, laughing as she playfully swatted Ayda's arm. "Go. Do you want to go back to your parents all flustered from want?" 

"Fair. There will be time for _that_ later," Ayda replied, pressing her forehead to Niav's. "Tell  _Jidd_  Aine I said hello?"

"Of course! Don't be surprised if I come to the library bearing sweets from her. I promise they won't be candied lemons this time."

Ayda laughed as she walked away. Niav's grandmother was a kind but fierce woman, someone she'd easily describe as "wire and fire." Time had not shrunken her long, willowy limbs, nor withered her sense of humor. The first time that Niav had taken her home to meet her family,  _Jidd_  Aine looked her up and down before abruptly thwacking Ayda's arm with her spoon. 

"Tcheh!" the elder had cried out, throwing up her hands. "You meet someone as old as I, and you do not kneel? Where are your seven gifts for the house? Were you raised  _Fereldan_ , child?"

She recalled the way she mouthed silently to Niav for help, who held back a grin. After a moment,  _Jidd_  Aine doubled over with laughter. "Ah, your  _face_ , my dear!" she rasped. "Have calm, have calm - I like to startle all of Niav's guests the first time 'round, to show them what she comes from. Don't let her sweet face fool you! Come." 

_I hope that we're that sharp as we grow old together_ , Ayda thought fondly. But just as clouds could block the sun, so too did the sudden image of Lord Seeker Lucius shatter her memory.

_God guide me_ , she prayed silently as she started down the road to her family's home.  _Let there be only one this time_.

_For once, please don't let more of them come._


	3. Chapter 3

Ayda had not made two steps past the gate to her family's compound before she heard the clang of a pot hitting the floor, accompanied by a blood-curdling scream. She barely felt the door swing open as her feet carried her inside. Cinnamon and herbs hit her nose as she ran. Unless her aunt was attempting to make tea again, there was no reason for anyone to be so afraid. But when she saw her mother in the middle of the kitchen, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Her mother was standing in a puddle of  _shay,_ oblivious to the heat.Steam curled ominously around her tea leaf-covered ankles. Ayda recognized that thousand-yard stare and the flared nostrils and _knew_. 

" _Umma_ ," she called to her softly, "what did you see?"

But her mother didn't hear her. Her father stepped out from behind his wife to carefully remove the shattered teapot from the floor. Even with his head bent, she could see valleys of wrinkles forming on his brow. He winced as a shard pricked his finger, drawing blood. Still her mother remained oblivious to the birds chirping, or children playing in the family's garden. After a moment, neither did Ayda.

"Ancestors guide us," her mother mouthed silently. Her hands still trembled where they were held, and soon her entire body was like a leaf in the wind. 

"Ancestors guide us."

They waited. Ayda's father waved a hand to extinguish their cooking fires, but made no motion to prepare anything to be served. With what appeared to be a horrific vision unfolding before her mother's eyes, dinner would have to wait. Ayda felt her stomach growl aggressively, but her hunger could not best her worry.

And with a shudder, it was over. 

"What have we done?" her mother whispered fiercely. "We did not forget. We have never forgotten. What have we done for this to befall us?"

"You have not been sleeping, my love. Perhaps it's not what you think," her father said, reaching out to rub her shoulders. Her mother started as if she'd been struck, shaking her head wildly. 

"A  _sool's_ vision is always clear," she groaned, clutching at her braids. "She may be blind in the eyes, but her v-"

Ayda jumped out of the way just in time while her poor mother wretched. She was still quivering, down to her bones even, and Ayda didn't know how to help. She watched helplessly as her father snatched up an old rag and handed it to her. 

"Clean," he instructed her. "I'll take her to her mother and gather the others. We will be prepared-" 

"There can be no preparation for this," her mother looked at him, eyes shining bright and watery. "There can be no preparation, no defense.

"We can only pray."

***

One by one, the last of Clan Luain crowded into Ayda's family room. Her extended family had settled close to the Dairsmuid Circle: too many of them displayed some magical ability or another, and it was far easier for them to stick together than scatter. Thirty-three adults and ten children crammed into a room that could barely hold fifteen, circling slowly around a collection of candles placed in the center of it. One for each direction that the wind blew, she recalled. When her grandparents entered, they all fell silent.

Ayda reached up to wipe her brow - the room was hot, too hot for autumn - and knocked her elbow into her twin brother, Tomas. His reddish-brown skin had taken on golden undertones from spending the entire harvest season outside. She had originally planned to join him in helping the non-mages bundle up millet, to be sent into the city. But her coursework had taken priority; of the two, it was she who would become  _sool_. 

Tomas sucked his teeth softly before regarding her with a raised eyebrow.

 _What are we doing?_ he was asking.

She silently raised a finger to the corner of her eye.  _Vision_ , she gestured. His face was folding into a frown before it cracked apart with shock. Ayda turned her head see what had him shaken, and ice formed in her gut. 

Ayda's maternal and paternal grandmothers stood on either side of her mother, faces somber and stone-still. Her mother had removed all of her jewelry, exposing many of the tattoos that covered her arms. She had also exchanged her bright orange robes for a simple white dress. Ayda counted three white bracelets on each wrist. And her red-rimmed eyes could scarcely be seen beneath the thin white shroud draped over her face. 

Someone was about to die.

Ayda tried to slow her breath while one of her grandmothers stepped forward. On such an occasion, it was customary for Ayda's maternal grandmother -  _gulef_ of their shrunken clan - to begin their convention. At her gesture, all eight candles came alight. The flames cast a reddish light on her mother's white shroud, and made her relatives look like ghouls huddled together.

"Aylin has invoked the right of _ramat-tost_ , which we must honor," the _gulef_ began, tucking her staff into the crook of her arm. "But her eyes opened on this day and saw death. We do not know whose, but we mourn nonetheless. We shall pray for us all."

They linked arms around the candles. Her brother squeezed her hand tight before snaking his arm around hers. Her cousin Nialla was trembling on the other side, but stared silently straight into the flames. Any one of them in the room would be the one to pass. Ayda hoped fervently that her mother's vision was only a heat-dream, nothing more.

But she knew better.

"From the Mounts Arach we climbed down, shaken but alive," her grandmother began. "Who here denies this?"

Her family responded.

"Not I, who carried my kin, and whose kin carried me. Not I, who planted seeds in the field." 

"But as it is above us, so it goes below us. Who here would run from this?"

"Not I, who came from the earth. Not I, who shall one day return."

"And so we stand, one foot in life and the other in death. One of us shall step into the night."

Her mother's sob burst free from her mouth.

"But my ancestors await me with open arms," they continued, "I have remembered them. Why should I be afraid?"

"Indeed, we should not be afraid. May the living take solace - deep are the roots of our tree.

"Should a leaf fall, it will return to the ground. As it returns to the ground, it returns to the tree. All is not lost."

"As you walk into the night, may your footsteps echo with the goodness of your deeds."

"I do not drag my feet with regret. May others come across my path and learn."

"May your departure not become a bundle of wood left out on the field."

"But a fire in the hearths of those I leave behind."

"May you be strong in the face of your death."

"For all is not lost."

Ayda's grandmother flicked her wrist, extinguishing all of the candles at once. One of her uncles cast lights with magelight as the room erupted into a wave of murmurs.

 " _Umma._ " Tomas seemed numb. "What did she see to make her be like this?"

"I don't know." But he was no longer listening as cousins came around to embrace him. She watched as her paternal grandmother pulled her mother into her arms. She began to rock her back and forth, back and forth, while her daughter-in-law gave in to her sorrow.

"Ancestors guide us," Aylin wailed, chest heaving. "Ancestors guide us. Ancestors guide us." _  
_

"They have shown us mercy, Aylin," her grandmother soothed her. "They gave you the vision so we could say our farewells to whoever is to depart. Take comfort in that." A fat tear rolled down her cheek as she tucked her chin into Aylin's shroud.

Ayda's heart ached. She started towards her mother when a bony hand caught her arm, gentle but firm.

"Ayda," her _gulef_ said in a low voice, "come."

Ayda  followed her grandmother out the door and into their garden, where her grandfather stood with one of her aunts. They nodded silently and stepped away to give them privacy. Once they were alone, her  _gulef_ let out all of her breath.

"This will be difficult to say, Ayda," she sighed, "but duty binds us all. You will need to leave immediately."

It was like she'd been struck with a shovel.

" _What?_ Why?" she gasped. Her heart longed to be back inside with her parents, and it tried to race back in.

"Your mother has called for it," her grandmother explained. "Before she invokedthe right of silence, that is what she told _Jidd_ Iba and I."

She turned to look back inside. Her mother and other grandmother were still visible, still sobbing; her father had joined them, massaging Aylin's back. Her aunts and uncles could be seen comforting each other, too, all held hands and long embraces and shed tears.

She could hear, but not see, one of her little cousins beginning to cry; he came into view as her father picked the child up. As he took him gently into his arms, her father began to hum "the Fig Tree," as he did for her when she was a child. When she began to lose her baby teeth, or when she scraped her knees from running around in the garden - or when she first came into her magic - he was always there, and he would sing "the Fig Tree." It was a children's song, she knew, but part of her wanted to hum along with him. Weren't they all made children again in the face of death?

Her grandmother's voice pulled her back into the garden. 

"I am sorry, Ayda. But you cannot remain."

"Am I...am I to die?" she stammered.

Her grandmother shook her head. "She would not say. But my heart tells me that it is to spare you."

"Spare me what, _Jidd_ Anag? The pain? How can I leave home knowing that someone is going to die?" Ayda's eyes began to sting. "Shouldn't I be with everyone else? Why am I being singled out?"

"Have calm, Ayda." Strong hands gripped her shoulders. "Remember that these bodies are borrowed. We all have to return them someday, but it is not your time yet. She would not send you away if she knew you could handle bearing witness to it."

"But,  _Jidd-_ "

"Peace, my child, and go say your farewells. Go for the night, then come back. When the sun rises, this will all be over. I am sure of it." Her smile was gentle, and she rubbed away Ayda's tears with a weathered thumb. "Okay? You must try to be strong for her, hmm?"

"Okay," Ayda wavered. She fell into her grandmother's arms and tried to shore up her tears. 

When the gate finally closed behind her, the fear she felt would not be left behind. She could only hum two lines of "the Fig Tree" before she wept.

***

The sun had almost slipped past the mountains when Ayda finally reached the Circle. She'd managed to build a dam against her tears as she walked, and counted her footsteps to clear her mind. Her grandmother was right; they all had their parts to play, even if they came to an end. Hers was to focus on improving her understanding of the world around her.

And it wasn't as if she would be alone. Ayda was ever grateful that Niav would be there with her. Along with the sweets  _Jidd_ Aine sent with her and the knitted blanket that _Jidd_ Iba had pressed tearfully into her hands, Ayda would find some way to make it through the night.  _  
_

Dawn always came, after all.

She began to climb the steps but stopped as soon as she heard Lord Seeker Lucius coming outside, full to the brim of self-righteous anger. Remembering his dark curiosity from earlier in the day, she hurried to hide behind the nearest column and stood in the shadows. There was no way she was crossing paths with him alone. She would wait until he was long gone before she stepped back into the light.

Two sets of footsteps clicked across the stone landing and came to a stop.

"This is not over," the Seeker warned. "The Chantry will be made aware of the sacrilegious activity taking place within your walls."

"We are not like your other Circle mages, Lord Seeker." 

It was _Bheyida_ Rivella. The warmth that usually characterized her voice had been taken over entirely by frost. "The Grand Cleric will understand that generations of tradition do not die easily. We have taken a syncretic approach that has yielded results, and harmed none."

" _Harm_ is allowing your sort to roam freely beyond Circle bounds where they pose a threat to people," the man retorted. " _Harm_ is teaching children that creatures of the Fade can be interacted with using anything but a blade. _Harm_ , Rivella, is lulling the people of Dairsmuid into a false sense of security."

"The people are still safe, if not safer," the First Enchanter said coolly. "I know the Chant of Light. Andraste would see our mages and-"

"You have offended Andraste with your open defiance of the Maker's will." Ayda imagined that he had gotten dangerously close to her face, and the sound of a step backward confirmed it. "There is not a single mage here. Every last one of them is an _apostate_." 

Ayda gasped.

She heard the sharp shift of armor and the low growl of Lord Seeker Lucius.

"Who goes there?" He growled. Armored boots clanked nearer. Ayda clasped her hands against her mouth; she dared not draw breath, lest it be her last. He was just about to reach her column before the First Enchanter cleared her throat, causing him to stop.

"I heard nothing, Lord Seeker. Your fear of mages is making you hear things."

She heard him turn. "I have no more fear of _apostates_ than I have of demons, and your kind are far more close to the latter than the former. Make no mistake - your sins will be accounted for."

Silence.

"You would threaten me, Lord Seeker?" The ice in First Enchanter Rivella's voice was thin, and threatening to crack. "Do you think that your own leash to the Chantry will not be pulled?"

"That is not of your concern. As far as  _I_ am concerned, you are not a member of the Chantry. And if we were both honest before the eyes of the Maker," he snarled, "you never were."

His shadow loomed on the ground near Ayda as he marched down the stairs.

"Even if you could lay claim to my sympathies, I am obligated to tell the Chantry. The Grand Cleric  _will_ be notified, Rivella." 

Ice gave away to stone. "So be it. We all have our duties, Lord Seeker. I will not keep you from yours." 

Ayda swallowed her heart down. They had never had such a visit before or if they had, none of the Circle mages had been told. She thought of all the rumors coming out of other parts of Thedas, of mages rebelling and Templars putting them to the sword. She didn't know who the Grand Cleric was, but wasn't she supposed to be full of Andraste's light? If the Templars were going out of control with their hatred of mages, then who was there to hold them back and remind them of the Maker's mercy?

And then someone tapped her shoulder.

"Hush," First Enchanter Rivella hissed as she suppressed Ayda's yelp with a perfumed hand. "You do not want him to hear you and come back." They stood there for twenty heartbeats; Ayda tried to take deep breaths, and let the coconut on the First Enchanter's skin soothe her nerves. It was only until the woman was completely sure they were alone that she released Ayda with an exhale of relief.

"Ayda, girl, how long were you standing there?"

"Long enough to hear him threaten you,  _Bheyida_ Rivella," Ayda admitted. "I was heading to the library - I really didn't mean to eavesdrop but-"

"I know. He asked after you specifically earlier."

 _Ancestors guide me_. "Why me?"

"He suspected you were training to be  _sool_ after hearing your Clan name. I will credit the man for studying our people, but little else." Her lip curled with disgust. "He is planning something."

Ayda's mother's cries echoed in her mind.

"Do you think he's going to attack us?" she dredged up the courage to ask. "Or get the Chantry to turn on us in some way?"

The First Enchanter didn't reply right away. Her hands were clenched tight behind her back, slender balls of fury shielded behind a polished front.

"Only the Grand Cleric can declare judgment on an entire Circle. Even he knows that." Her eyes snapped back down to her charge, and she guided Ayda with her hands. 

"Go inside and study. If the Seeker comes back with a few Templars tonight to scare us, we will be far more than prepared. But he'll have to report to the Grand Cleric in the morning, so I doubt he'll try. Tell no one of what you saw," she added. "This is not something I want to needlessly scare the others with.

"This will all be over by sunrise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Rivaini Glossary**
> 
>  
> 
> Gulef: The head of each clan. Usually chosen by majority after the previous _gulef_ passes, although more than one clan has been known to require consensus. A gulef is typically over the age of 50 except under extreme circumstances, and has passed many tests for maturity, strength, leadership, empathy, and clarity of insight.
> 
> Umma: Mother
> 
> Ramat-tost: The mercy of silence. A seer has the right to remain silent if she receives a vision so traumatic, it would be an act of unforgivable cruelty to inform the subject or subjects. However, she must announce that a vision inspiring ramat-tost had taken place, so that all in the community (or family) can gather for prayer and brace themselves as a unit. 
> 
> Shay: tea. Inside of Rivain, the tea can describe anything from a mix of black tea leaves with cloves and cinnamon bark to an herbal blend. Tea exports characterized by Rivaini flavors are unilaterally called _shay_ tea by outsiders, who usually fail to understand the redundancy of the term. 
> 
> Sool: seer, to be distinguished from _sahbsool_ , a member of the Seers' Council. _Soolim _women go through extensive training after their first vision, which usually occurs five to six years after they awaken as mages.__


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is directly inspired by [Prituri se Planinata](http://lyricstranslate.com/en/prituri-sa-planinata-mountain-has-overturned-collapsed.html) (Bulgarian, "the Mountain Has Overturned"). It is not required listening, but if you're wondering what I used in my attempt to capture the essence of this chapter, I recommend listening to it while you read. It was chosen for specific symbolic reasons: it is about two shepherds trapped by a collapsed mountain, and they ask it to spare their lives. It listens to their pleas, but ultimately spares neither. English-language lyrics are available on the linked page, above the video clip.
> 
> There is a chapter-specific content warning for graphic violence, images of mass murder and death. You have been warned.
> 
> I promise it will get better from here.  
> -Domina

Ayda felt her brother, but it was too late. 

He was fighting for his life, she knew, because she could see through his eyes. Even if she squinted, it was all fire and flashes of iron and smoke. He danced among the flames with a Templar, drawing upon what was already there to try and roast the man to death in his armor. To Ayda's horror, the man seemed to shake off Tomas' attacks.

"Magic exists to serve man," the Templar howled in Trade Tongue, "never to rule over him." 

"Curse every last one of you forgotten Andrastian bastards to the Void!" Tomas shouted back in Rivaini. Sparks flew from his hands like arrows, just enough to keep the Templar from preparing to smite him. Ayda could see Andraste's sword emblazoned on the Templar's chest, splattered with blood. 

Tomas' blood. 

A blazing beam came crashing down between the two and Tomas leaped away, but not before taking a serious injury to his casting arm. She felt his panic as he staggered back, gritting his teeth through pain that not even battle-heat could overpower. But he couldn't heal. The Templar was raising his blade and limping towards him, but if he could call upon the Fade one more time - 

_**NO.** _

The Templar was still reciting the Chant of Light, closer now, not even bothering to rush.

_Six steps away._

Tomas tried to drag power through the Veil and could not. 

_Five steps away._

He called upon his ancestors for aid. They did not answer.

_Four steps away._

He tried not to hear the screams of his cousins.

_Three steps away._

_**AYDA - SAVE YOURSELF. RUN. THE TEMPLARS ARE-** _

And Ayda awoke screaming, grabbing at her throat as she felt the Templar's blade pass through his.

"TOMAS!" she shrieked, jumping up from her chair. She looked frantically around her nook in the library and Niev wasn't there. She stumbled over Jidd Iba's blanket and scrambled over to the nearest window, only to see everything for miles bathed in flames. 

Her heart fought against her chest. 

Some of the Templars were climbing out of a fresh ditch, its depth visible even from two stories up. They had erected a barricade nearby, where people were crowding and struggling against the sharp pikes. A Templar bashed a sobbing woman with his shield, killing her instantly. She slumped lifelessly against the barricade, unable to be moved by the people crowded together. The ones still alive cried for their ancestors, for their clans - for Andraste, even - but no one could save them from what came next. They could not run, and the Templars were dragging still more people past the barricade.

Alive or dead. 

The rallying cries of Clans Barad, Yasain, Seadha and others threatened to drown out the Templars shouting in Trade Tongue, but every one of them was cut off by sword, smoke, or flame. Ayda watched as people succumbed to smoke-sickness behind the barricade, joining the many dead among their ranks.

She did not hear anyone from Clan Luain.

Ayda leaned against the bookshelf, gasping for air. Andraste's soldiers had come in force, and they would destroy all that remained of the Circle. She thought of her clan and wanted to shout their names, wanted to call out to them, but knew they would never hear. 

What a sick mercy her mother had dealt her.

What a sick mercy Andraste had dealt her people.

She froze as the sparring finally reached her corner of the library. There was the sharp scream of mages fighting back with everything they had left, and there was fire and ice and earth that threatened to rip the room apart. Wood splintered apart with a crack-crack-crack-crack that had Ayda drawing for her power, even if it gave her away.

She began to hum to herself, slowly, while the Templars killed mage after mage. They recited the Chant of Light as they cut people down. Chanting like laborers culling wheat during the harvest.

Andraste's words were not a blessing, but a curse.

"You killed my students!" one of the Enchanters bellowed in Rivaini. Lightning flashed and crackled out of control, striking the wall in front of Ayda. 

 _Fatya looked up at the fig tree and said,_ Ayda sang to herself,  _"it shall rot, come morning-"_

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and wicked and do not falter!" she heard the Templars chant. Sacred words were punctuated by the sound of rending flesh.

 _And the moons they did set, and the sun it did rise, and indeed it was just -_  

"Blessed are the peacekeepers, champions of the just!"

She had little time to move out of the way before a ball of fire burned through several shelves and whizzed over her head. It left smoke and burning books in its wake and blasted a gaping hole in the wall behind her. As bricks fell away, she could see the back of fully-armored Templar. He ducked as blades of ice swept towards his head. While he dipped low, Ayda saw one of the Archivists, Aidan, preparing more blades. They locked eyes. Aidan shook his head, and mouthed only one word:

Fight.

_Do not cry my aching child. Are you not of Fatya, too?_

Aidan jerked backward with a sharp cry while a blade slid through his chest; the sword gleamed wetly before disappearing, leaving only a blossom of red in its wake. His mouth was a fountain, flowing with blood. Ayda tried not to scream as he sank to the ground, eyes still on her. 

_Your fig tree may deny you fruit, but your will is just as strong._

"YOU THERE!"

A Templar pointed to her with his blade and charged. With a sob she formed a ball of water and trapped his head in it, drowning him where he stood. By the time his comrades came swinging through the burning room, it was too late. 

_And the moons, they will set. And the sun, it will rise, and indeed, it will be just so._

_Do not cry, my ache-_

She cried out as a sword kissed her throat, too, and she jerked away from it. She ended up facing the window - or what had been the window, because the walls were not built to withstand a massacre. Theirs was not a land where mages were harbingers of destruction and death. 

"BLESSED ARE THE RIGHTEOUS, THE LIGHTS IN THE SHADOW."

_Do not cry, my aching -_

Ayda was tired, and she paused to look out at what stretched in front of her. Ayda could barely see the Arach Mountains through all the smoke. She felt armored hands on her back and a shove and she was falling.

The mountains became clearer then.

_Do not cry, my -_

The snapping of bones filled her ears as she hit the ground. She could hear little else. Ayda could see bodies falling backward into the pit, clothespins tumbling from the line, awash with blood. She could see the Templars' lips forming the words to their Chant of Light, stabbing one by one. 

Then the Circle began to collapse. It took her into its embrace with planks, and pages, and flame. Something sank into her with a crunch, but it didn't matter anymore. She lost feeling as fast as she lost her hearing, and she was tired.

She closed her eyes.

_Do not cry -_

It was hot. 

_Do not cry -_

It was dark.

_Do not cry -_

 

All was lost.


End file.
